Twelve Days: A Christmas Story
by forthright
Summary: A seasonal tale told in twelve parts. Response to the Twelve Days of Christmas Drabble Challenge. Someone has begun leaving little gifts for our favorite monk. COMPLETE.
1. On the First Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles…especially for the one doing all the plotting.

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_**On the First Day of Christmas...**_

_I've been watching, and Miroku-sama seems so unhappy. Maybe it's the void? Of course it's the void._ The monk held death in his hand, and at times, it stole the life from his eyes. Usually, he shook off the melancholy with a witty jest and a provocative suggestion, but not this time. As he walked, his eyes never left the ground. _It's as if he's forgotten how to taste, see, smile, __live__. He should be teasing, flirting, wheedling... not avoiding. This is __not__ the Miroku-sama I know. _

He was distancing himself, closing himself off from the rest of the group. _I suppose he thinks he's protecting us. How foolish! Doesn't he know that pulling away won't shield our hearts? _From the looks of things, he didn't. _Is it possible... has he given up? _

Shoulders squared. _Nope. I won't __let__ him keep brooding like this. He just needs something to spark his interest in living again. Something to look forward to. And I know just the thing!_

oOo

Miroku stirred restlessly in his sleep, reluctant to open his eyes. _Why bother? _Letting his head fall to one side, he drew a deep breath to fuel a gusty sigh. _Is that…cinnamon?_ Taking another experimental sniff, Miroku slowly opened his eyes. Just inches from his face lay a small, green bundle. Brows furrowing, he propped himself on one elbow for a closer inspection. Sweet flag grass filled the air with its spiciness as he gently prodded it with a finger. _How…odd._

_

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**End Note:** This drabble was written for the **Twelve Days of Christmas Challenge**. Details can be found in the final chapter. 245 words.


	2. On the Second Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles…especially for the one who has this Christmas carol running 'round and 'round in my head.

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_**On the Second Day of Christmas…**_

Miroku walked along, eyes on his sandaled feet. _Where did that bundle of sweet grass come from?_ None of the others seemed to even notice the small…offering? It was just a little thing, but the leaving of it _had_ to be intentional. _Neatly arranged, tied with care, and completely inexplicable._

Shippo had been singing one of Kagome's strange Christmas carols all morning, and the repetition grated on Miroku's nerves. _A man can only take so many partridges and turtle doves. _So he'd escaped. There was a spot he liked to meditate whenever they were staying at Kaede's; the little alcove among the rocks was secluded and defensible. His accustomed seat was a low, flat ridge of slate. Reaching this perch, he pulled up short. _What's this? _

In the center of the wide stone was a pile. Drawing closer, Miroku's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. A carefully constructed pyramid of chestnuts stood there, ends split and already roasted. _Another gift?_ Whoever left this knew something of his habits. Could it be the same person who had left the flag grass? _Has to be. But who?_ Miroku sat down on the stone and plucked nut meats from shells while he pondered the little mystery.

oOo

A watcher noted the monk's return later. Miroku's eyes were sharp and alert, and he studied each person he met as if searching for something. _His eyes are no longer downcast. I'd say it's working! _

_

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**End Note: **236 words.


	3. On the Third Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one in the gratuitous hot spring scene.

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_**On the Third Day of Christmas...**_

Miroku stretched out his legs, savoring the heat of the spring's mineral-rich water. Leaning back to submerge his shoulders, he lazily watched wisps of steam as they rose towards the stars. _It's been an interesting day. _Kagome had briefly returned to her own time, bringing back Christmas treats for all of them. He'd sampled many new foods, from rice crackers to chocolate. _Those rings of dried fruit she called pineapple... I'll have to ask for those again. _

Eventually, the monk reached for Kagome's other gift. _Soap is a very practical luxury._ Working up a soft lather, he smoothed the cleansing foam across his chest and down his torso, bubbles clinging to hairs as he kneaded his way down the lean length of his legs. Submerging to rinse, Miroku ran fingers through his unbound hair. Despite the day's niceties, he couldn't deny being a little disappointed. _My mysterious gift-giver didn't turn up. Ah, well. _

Miroku sloshed to the spring's edge to collect his robes, but he halted mid-reach. There, perfectly centered on the dark fabric of his under-robe was a shell. He picked it up, fingering the rough underside while admiring the vibrant shades of blue and violet that gleamed from within. It was nearly the same color as his robes… and his eyes. When it finally occurred to Miroku that someone had snuck up on him while he was bathing in order to leave it, his low chuckle of appreciation matched the light in his eyes.

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**End Note: **245 words.


	4. On the Fourth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially the one whose eyes hold a definite twinkle.

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_**On the Fourth Day of Christmas…**_

Miroku sprawled on his stomach in the predawn quiet, too restless to sleep any longer. Eyes closed, he let his thumb glide over the ridged edge of the shell he'd received last night and pondered the gifts he'd been finding. _Is someone sending me a message? If so, what is it? An admirer among the village girls?_ The monk shook his head. _I haven't noticed anyone mooning over me lately. _Most people knew that he and Sango had an understanding. In fact, he'd halfway suspected Sango of leaving the presents as tokens of affection... up until yesterday's present. Sango would never show up at the hot springs while he was bathing. It wasn't in keeping with her shy reserve. _So…if not Sango, then who?_

Opened his eyes, Miroku propped his chin on folded hands, then smiled in delight. A quick look assured him that the hut's other occupants were still asleep. Turning his gaze back to the latest gift, he studied it closely. A tiny wooden figure sat right in front of his nose. The workmanship was delicate—graceful lines, finely reticulated detailing, and beautiful proportions. This _netsuke_ carving, which could be used to fasten a pouch to one's belt, was in the form of a stag. Its tapered face had a proud tilt, and its horns curved backwards across its shoulders. A stag traditionally symbolized longevity. _An interesting choice for a man of my circumstances. _He hoped the giver wasn't being overly optimistic.

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**End Note: **243 words.


	5. On the Fifth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the endearingly amorous one.

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_**On the Fifth Day of Christmas...**_

It was mid-morning before Miroku noticed that something had been tied with thread to the finial of his _shakujou_. Perhaps it was because of the metallic sheen to the wrapping; it blended in rather well. The one who'd secured it in place must be just as light on their feet as they were with their fingers; one false move would have raised an alarm from the jingling rings.

The monk removed himself to a solitary spot in order to peruse his latest present without interruption. _Oh, this is wonderful! _He'd always had a weakness for expensive inks, and the foil-encased ink stick he unwrapped was of the highest quality. Slipping back its covering, Miroku delicately ran one finger across the dark block and scrutinized the shade. If he wasn't mistaken, this would yield an ink with a bluish cast to it. _Perhaps I should add to my stock of sutras this afternoon. _Inuyasha had announced they would be on the move again tomorrow, and it was wisest to be prepared.

_This may be the last,_ he realized... and not without a twinge of regret. _I would have liked to solve this riddle beforehand. _If his gift-giver really was one of the village girls, then the presents would surely stop as soon as their little travel party resumed their quest.

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**End Note:** 219 words.


	6. On the Sixth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the houshi whose very politeness makes him a suspicious character.

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_**On the Sixth Day of Christmas...**_

Morning broke into mayhem. Miroku groaned as Inuyasha barked orders, trying to hustle everyone out the door. They were chasing down the rumor of a shard in spite of the cold weather and threat of snow. The sun had barely passed the horizon when the group set off. They'd just settled into a comfortable pace when it occurred to Miroku that there had been no gift to greet the day. _That's that then._

Winter days being short, they stopped by mid-afternoon to set up a camp. Inuyasha darted off for a quick patrol and to gather firewood, and Miroku stayed with the girls, helping to dig a fire pit and spreading Kagome's waterproof tarps. When the hanyou returned with dry kindling, Miroku offered to fetch the water.

He returned to a familiar scene. Inuyasha lounged on an overhead tree branch. Kagome and Shippo shared one blanket; Kirara was curled against Sango on another. And on his blanket… _Hmm._ Miroku quietly palmed the small bundle that rested on his bedding as he took his accustomed seat. Curiously, he fingered the little leather pouch. It was supple, with fine stitching—good workmanship. It occurred to Miroku that he could use the _netsuke_ stag to fasten the pouch inside his robes. _It would be the perfect place to keep my new ink. _Then, his ability to reason asserted itself, and the rambling thoughts came to a standstill. _So it __is_ _one of them? _Miroku eyed each of his companions. _But which one?_

_

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**End Note: **248 words.


	7. On the Seventh Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one with little gold hoops in his ears.

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_**On the Seventh Day of Christmas...**_

_The grass and nuts __maybe__, but could Shippo have afforded that carving? Wait, does __he_ _carve?_ Miroku's thoughts spun through the possibilities as he made his way towards the river to freshen up. The girls had gone together earlier with the kitsune in tow, so while Inuyasha did some hunting, the monk had foregone a perfect peeping opportunity to lay out the six gifts on his blanket for consideration. His suspicions kept shifting based on opportunity and motivation. _I __really__ can't see Inuyasha leaving me presents. _

Before long, the path soon opened out onto a wide, slow-moving river. The shallows were dotted with large, smooth rocks, evenly placed like stepping stones. _If I was careful, I could cross the expanse without once getting my feet wet. _As he calculated the best route, his eyes caught a splash of color on a stone midway. Curious, he leapt lightly from rock to rock until he reached his latest gift. On a neat square of cerulean cloth rested an elegant set of chopsticks.

oOo

Inuyasha paused on his way back to the others, a pair of skinned rabbits over one shoulder. From his treetop vantage point, a movement caught his attention; Miroku, smiling broadly, was skipping across stones toward the riverbank. Golden eyes lit in amusement as the monk nearly lost his footing on a snowy patch, arms windmilling wildly. _Good to see the houshi's cheered up a bit._ With a smirk, the hanyou turned towards camp.

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**End Note: **243 words.


	8. On the Eighth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer: **I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one whose hands have a tendency to wander.

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_**On the Eighth Day of Christmas...**_

The monk surreptitiously monitored his friends, hoping for a clue to his benefactor's identity. Everyone seemed oblivious, though. No one batted an eye when he'd used the new chopsticks to eat his ramen at dinner last night. _Either the others have no idea what is going on, or they are doing a very good job of pretending they do not. _

By mid-morning, they reached the source of the rumor they were chasing, a village at the mercy of a power-mad youkai. The bear demon was defeated in short order, and Kagome smiled with satisfaction as another shard was added to their collection. A grateful headman offered them rooms for the night, and Miroku accepted graciously on everyone's behalf. After the noonday meal, he and Sango went for a short walk, admiring the delicate flakes of snow drifting lazily from the steel grey sky. _Snow can be pleasant when you know you will not be sleeping in it. _

Returning later to the room he and Inuyasha would share, Miroku moved towards his futon; he wasn't entirely surprised to see a small bump marring the otherwise smooth bedding. With a quiver of expectancy, he slowly folded back the blanket and, with gentle fingers, lifted the small, glazed teacup. Soft brown without, Ceylon green within, the rim was decorated with a pattern of gingko leaves. _Gingko for endurance and for longevity. At least someone seems convinced I'll live through this._

For that Miroku was truly grateful.

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**End Note: **243 words.


	9. On the Ninth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one who turns mere paper into a dangerous weapon.

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_**On the Ninth Day of Christmas…**_

Miroku was certain the gift-giver would reveal some clue to their identity eventually. _If I just keep my eyes open..._ h_mm._ _Perhaps I can stay alert late enough to catch them in the act?_ When the time came for goodnights, Miroku was surprised when Kirara wove her way around his ankles, mewing loudly. She preceded him along the hall and sat before his door. "After you," Miroku invited as he slid it aside. Settling onto the futon, Miroku's feline companion hopped lightly onto his chest and curled up. The monk found her loud purr soothing, and soon drifted into a deep sleep.

Muzzily, Miroku stirred. _I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly. _There was a warm weight on his chest, and he opened one eye to meet the saucy stare of a neko-youkai. "Morning," he mumbled and closed his eye again.

A soft paw batted his nose until he opened both eyes. Satisfied by his attentive gaze, Kirara looked pointedly to the right. Miroku turned his head and groaned. _It's a conspiracy!_ There lay a necklace—a simple circlet of stone with a leather thong threaded through it. He'd missed his chance to catch his benefactor because Kirara's rumble had covered up any sounds they might have made. "You little sneak," he warmly accused, scratching the cat under her chin. "I _will_ figure it out, you know," he assured. Kirara just blinked knowingly and resumed her contented purring.

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**End Note: **240 words.


	10. On the Tenth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one with that that adorable little ponytail.

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_**On the Tenth Day of Christmas…**_

The hanyou sneezed... for the third time. Kagome looked at him, concerned. "Are you coming down with something, Inuyasha?"

Miroku watched in amusement as he grumbled out a "Keh," then muttered something about scouting ahead.

To the monk's surprise, Inuyasha flung a reproachful glance his way before launching into the trees. _What did I do to earn __that__ look?_ It was almost as if the hanyou was trying to put some distance between them.

Shippo, who was riding on Miroku's shoulder, patted the monk's cheek. "Well, you _do_ smell funny today," he consoled.

_I do? _When they stopped to set camp, Shippo stayed close by Miroku, obviously waiting for something. "What is it you want, Shippo-kun?"

The kitsune confidently pointed to Miroku's blanket. "I wanna see what's in there."

Intrigued by the kit's curiosity, he unrolled his bedding. There, tucked into the folds, was a silken pouch. Sitting with Shippo, the monk loosened the ties. When he upended the bag, three red-gold lumps tumbled onto his palm.

"What are they?" Shippo asked, his nose twitching wildly.

Miroku was a man of the world, acquainted with the finer things in life. As the waxy substance warmed with his touch, its heady fragrance intensified, and he answered, "This is myrrh, Shippo-kun. It is a kind of incense." Scraping some shavings loose with his thumbnail, the monk sprinkled them into the campfire. Everyone turned to stare as a sweet, dark scent surrounded them. _Such luxury in these humble surroundings._ It was absolutely beautiful.

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**End Note:** 250 words.


	11. On the Eleventh Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one whose capacious robes leave much to the imagination.

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_**On the Eleventh Day of Christmas…**_

The travelers pushed hard all day, making camp just a few hours from home. Miroku's eyes drifted out of focus as he gazed into the crackling fire. Kagome was chattering on about the Christmas festivities she would share with her family the next day. Sango's low laugh alternated with the rumble of Inuyasha's comments. Shippo's soft snores and Kirara's purr only added to the contented blending of sounds. Miroku shut his eyes and smiled dozily. _I like this feeling of belonging._ He had a place among these few. They depended on each other. He was alive. He was loved. _This_ was worth hanging onto. _This_ was worth fighting for. _I will not give up just yet. _

Miroku was fairly certain now who was leaving the presents. He just wasn't sure _why_. _Nothing yet today. _The monk's head had just nodded forward when a sudden _plunk _snapped him awake. Confused he looked around the circle of firelight. Everyone was still talking as if nothing had happened.

Shaking his head to clear it, Miroku looked down into his lap. Nestled in the fabric of his robes was a sheath, not much bigger than the palm of his hand. The knife he normally used for cutting paper for sutras had been traded for food several weeks back, but this blade would make a fine replacement. The audacity of this gift's arrival made him feel as if he were being gently teased. Miroku tucked his present away and closed his eyes with a smile.

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**End Note:** 250 words.


	12. On the Twelfth Day of Christmas

**Disclaimer:** I do hereby disclaim any rights or responsibilities for the characters in this string of drabbles… especially for the one who dares to do what others only dream.

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_**On the Twelfth Day of Christmas...**_

Miroku woke as a blanket settled around his shoulders. "Kagome-sama?"

"Shh... go back to sleep. It's early yet."

Miroku's hand wandered to the blanket she'd tucked around him. _Not mine._ He sought her gaze. "_You_, Kagome-sama?"

Hesitating briefly, the girl nodded.

"May I ask why?" the monk whispered as he sat up.

She wound her fingers together, a picture of awkwardness. "I guess because... you needed it?"

Truer words had never been spoken, and he offered a grateful smile. "You have always been kind."

"You _liked_ your presents then?" she asked softly, her usual enthusiasm bouncing back.

"Very much," he assured, raising a brow. "Though I am _most_ curious as to how the shell was left."

Blushing hotly, she mumbled, "I _didn't_ peek."

Miroku chuckled, then turned serious. "Each gift was most thoughtful; I especially liked the ink. Do the others know what you've been doing?"

"Not really. Well, yesterday was hard to overlook," she amended. "They're curious, but no one has asked outright."

"This is the last, isn't it?"

Kagome nodded. "The Twelve Days of Christmas has come to an end."

"Sit with me?" he invited, patting the space at his side. She cautiously joined him on his bedroll, and he grinned rakishly as he wound his new blanket around both their backs. Making certain she noticed, he piously tucked his hands into his sleeves, then murmured, "Be sure to tell Inuyasha that I behaved."

With a soft giggle, she relaxed. "We could tell them the whole story."

"That is a splendid idea." He leaned into her, and to his delight, she settled against him. Miroku wished he could express just how much her gifts had meant... and how precious her friendship had become. "Thank you, Kagome-sama... for _everything_."

When she smiled up at him, Miroku's heart felt lighter. _Ah, she knows. Of course she does. I was the one who needed reminding. _

_

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**End Note: **For the original drabble challenge, this final installment was the requisite 250 words, but I tweaked it during an editing pass in 2010. At 314 words, the new ending is technically too long, but it's also more plausible. That makes me happy... as do the Miroku!doodles that have been arriving in my mailbox! Links to Jupe's FanArt for this wee story can be found on my profile page.

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**THE CHALLENGE**

_Twelve Days: A Christmas Story_ was written in response to forthright's **Twelve Days of Christmas Drabble Challenge **on Live Journal. If you're interested in taking up the challenge yourself, here is a description:

It's Christmastime in the Sengoku Jidai, and a few modern traditions have been brought to the attention of Kagome's feudal friends and acquaintances. The frivolities of fruit cake, popcorn strings, and trimmed trees were enjoyed by all. The introduction of Christmas carols met with somewhat more mixed reviews, though a certain song seems to have put ideas into someone's head. _The Twelve Days of Christmas_, with its tale of giving gifts, inspires one "secret admirer" to reach out in little ways to the one they esteem. Can the recipient of all this seasonal affection discover who is leaving them gifts—and why?

Challenge Requirements:  
- Twelve drabbles in succession, each no more than 250 words.  
- Each drabble tells of the giving/receiving of one gift, allowing the mystery to unfold.  
- The gifts do NOT need to be the same as in the carol, nor does the number of items in each gift have to increase incrementally.  
- You may choose any IY characters for the giver and the receiver, and the pairing need not be a romantic one.  
- The identity of the "admirer" should be kept secret until the 12th day.


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